


Wordless

by swooning



Category: Battlestar Galactica (2003)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-04-08
Updated: 2015-04-08
Packaged: 2018-03-21 20:53:27
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,278
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3704549
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/swooning/pseuds/swooning
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Boring paperwork leads inevitably to inappropriate glances, and...</p>
            </blockquote>





	Wordless

Afterward, neither of them could say precisely who moved first. It was a moment, it was a sidelong glance that lingered too long, a pent-up thing that spoke on their behalf, so that they did not have to. One moment it was sitting side by side on the long seat under the bank of windows on Colonial One, dutifully slogging through paperwork, and the next… horizontal, that same paperwork flying askew and crumpling beneath, soon to become one of the many consequences they would have to face.   
  
But acknowledging those consequences would probably take words, and words had failed both of them as first eyes, then lips, then bodies locked, there on the ship of state, two heads of state demonstrating their fulsome knowledge of the power of silence in diplomatic relations.   
  
Laura was his leader, but Zarek was not easily led. Still, it was not so much a contest for dominance between them, at first, as a final building of mutual tension that was necessary to achieve the release both so desperately needed and sought. Each was frantic to inflame the other, and to be inflamed, the better to be quenched after so long a time away from considerations of the flesh.   
  
Flesh, then, was given its due consideration: first, through clothing. One searching hand finding a breast through silk, pausing a moment in anticipation, and then sliding into a purposeful caress. Another set of questing fingers slipping downward, grasping a firm buttock through gabardine suiting, the wool not providing enough purchase for such a delicate hand to grasp its find. And they kissed, kissed, as if it were breathing, unable to stop now they had begun, too bewitched by the ancient, never-fail spell of eager tongues entwined, the communication that began long before words were invented, the dialogue that makes words unnecessary.   
  
Next, without clothing, because nobody needed to speak to know that sex was the only possible outcome of this set of events. And though urgency and practicality would have favored the removal of as few clothes as possible, it had been so very long, and the need to feel another human being’s naked body aligned with one’s own, head to toe, touching everywhere it was possible to touch… it was, once remembered, a desire almost as great as that for the intercourse itself. And it was a need that could only be satisfied by flesh, so flesh was bared. Shoulders, slipping-down silk and lace, with a kiss-dampened nipple like a rose against snow. A creak of leather, bending back, because taking off a belt is like riding a bicycle, an automatic motion one never forgets. Zarek, impatient, pushing bunched fabric to the floor before resuming his place at Laura’s breast, his fascination not yet sated.   
  
She was lost, already. It almost would not have mattered who, as long as he was more desirable than repellent, and Laura had admitted her attraction to Zarek long since, to herself at least. He knew, she knew, he could smell it in the way she looked at him, see it in her voice, that it would take so little to push her fragile restraint over the edge. That she was a woman not accustomed to that sort of solitude, and that he was a man not accustomed to ignoring attraction this strong when it came along. It almost would not have mattered who, but more than that, Zarek was talented, they were talented together, at this. It was like choreography, the way they moved in tandem, sitting up to remove the last of their clothing, the way she knew when he stood that he was going to lock the door. Smoothly he slid back on to the couch, hard, ready, eyes dark but not unreadable. More open than ever, if anything, expressing an almost frightening degree of need, desire, immediacy. Which she met with a plaintive whimper, just before tugging him back down on top of her, every other single thing in the universe forgotten except the need to wrap her thighs around his hips, find his erection with one hand, and guide him inside her, and to kiss, and move together, and…  _yes_.  
  
He more than filled her, and she was tight; his jaw clenched, his breath hitched as she adjusted her hips, finding where their two bodies met with a sigh. Her lips parted, he knew he would never see her lips again without thinking of them parting in that sigh as he sank to the hilt inside her and time stopped to stare at them. He brushed the hair away from her face and held her eyes, even as she gripped his shoulders with hands that trembled for too many reasons to list. Eyes bright, wondering, a trace of pain fading into something raw, something that reached inside him and made him move before he realized he was doing it. An imperative, to move, and their bodies were puppets to biology, to their shared history of seizing advantages. Seizing one another, rolling to safety, these two people who so often warred with words, who had killed for the sake of philosophy, now irrevocably together in these pursuits. And evidently in this new pursuit, followed without words, without philosophy, still clutching one another for safety. Once a refugee, perhaps, always a refugee, seeking shelter where it might be found, throwing out old expectations because they had no place in a new life that was ruled by pragmatism.   
  
But it was more, more than just need, than pragmatism. They didn’t have to say it, to know it. It ruled them, now, it had become as inevitable as the way their rhythm hastened, their breath forced out of them in gasps from the hard and fast contact of their abdomens, so that their joining was doing not only their thinking but their breathing for them, by the end. She came like magic, like a new woman, and he arrived seconds later more prosaically, like a man. But just as intensely, meaning just as much and as little by it. Crying out, almost as if in protest; but there was nothing to fight. There was only Tom, propped on trembling arms to spare Laura his weight, panting like a winded horse, a slow smile beginning to steal across his handsome, jaded features. There was only Laura, slightly dazed, not yet fully aware of the room around her, sighing now a very different sigh that spoke of satisfaction. Deep, long-overdue, nearly overwhelming.   
  
She smiled at his smile, at his boyish grin, and lifted a hand to trace along the edge of his bottom lip as if she had to feel his smile to believe it. As if it were something wondrous. She was intoxicated. But she was also practical, and after a moment she kissed him lightly and then rolled out from beneath him. Started pulling clothes on, combing through her hair with her fingers, stacking papers into some semblance of order once again. Slowly, Tom began to do the same, rubbing his face with both hands like someone trying to wake up. He dragged his shirtsleeves right-side out, and looked up just as Laura did. She met his eyes curiously, because he was the latest puzzle she was trying to solve. And then she smiled, really smiled, devilishly, and his heart skipped a beat.   
  
He met her expression not with deviltry, but with a look of mild bemusement, with joy tempered by astonishment at what had just transpired. And then she looked away demurely, continued stacking up papers, and he slid on his trousers, and tied his tie, and began the tedious work of flattening out the crumpled pages. 


End file.
